Just a Muggy Day
by babbitrulez
Summary: It all seemed like it was just a muggy day. ...But was it?


Hey, guys! babbitrulez, here. Last night, while it was all humid outside, I was sitting bored in my basement when I felt like drawing "gangsta Abby." So... This is what came out of it.

Again, I do not own Codename: Kids Next Door. If I did, I would have pleaded with Cartoon Network for another season or show where all of Sector V is a teen division. But, no. I don't own C:KND. Oh, well.

Enjoy this... "muggy"... story...

* * *

It was just a muggy day. Not only was the sky bleak and the air so humid you could almost see the moisture in the air, but it was also the day I got mugged for the first time.

I was walking along the street, hands in my pockets and staring at the cracked pavement of the sidewalk. The sidewalk caked with still wet dirt squelched beneath the old U.S. Air Force boots my father used to wear before he died when I was six. For some reason, there was no one on the streets except for a lone man. As I continued walking, confused as to where everyone had gone since the day before, I saw the man scrambling to get away as he muttered to himself, "I gotta get outta here before **she **gets here…!"

I watched the man run past, questioning myself, "…Who's **'she'**…?"

Little did I know that I would find out at that very moment.

**_MUGGY_**

"_Ugh. I hate days like this_," I thought to myself. "_It's all humid and muggy outside. Come to think of it, I __**feel**__ muggy. Yeah. I feel like mugging someone today._" I chuckled quietly as I smirked sadly. "I **always** feel like mugging someone on the day my parents were murdered." I picked up my head and stopped, quickly quieting the annoying noises that came from under my used-to-be white tennis shoes. "Now if only I could find someone…," I muttered.

Peeking out of the alleyway, I smiled at a man running off into the distance in fear. Not seeing anyone else, I made my way out of the alley and began walking down the street.

Well, make that vacant street. There was no one to be seen. Not one person would show their face on these streets because of me. I knew it was because of me. I had seen this street yesterday **before** the news of my arrival had spread. It had been bustling with life: people, animals, plants – all bright with their sunny dispositions on life. But now, as I walked with my head hung low so that my eyes were hidden under my hat to others, I noticed that there was a significant lack of people and animals. In fact, even the plants in store windows were wilted in fear.

Turning my head back in front of me, I smirked at two things. One: even the plants were afraid of me, and Two: a guy I could mug was walking straight towards me.

**_MUGGY_**

"Guh!"

I had crashed into a figure and we went rolling down the sidewalk of the hill. At the bottom, I dizzily lifted up my head to see a girl with chocolatey skin glaring up at me. She had really nice black hair that ran all the way down to the small of her back. It was odd, seeing that her hair seemed like she had just gotten out of a salon while her clothes were tattered and torn. She even had shiny gold earrings. It was… weird…

She seemed a little put off by me on top of her, which I realized and began sputtering an apology as I rushed to stand up. "I'm sorry! So so so so sorry! I didn't mean—I was just—It was my fault, 'cause I—It…" As I reached out a hand to help her up, I groaned, "Auuuuughhh… I'm sorry, Miss…"

She scoffed at me, so I, figuring she didn't want my help, stuffed my hands in my pockets. She jumped up amazingly by pushing up with her arms and it was like this amazing gymnastics or acrobatic move. Aaaand… then it all turned south. She stuck out her hand and shouted, "Hands outta yo' pockets an' gimme the money!"

It was… unexpected… …to me… So I shakily raised my hands in defense and asked, "… Woah. …Seriously…?"

"**Yeah**, seriously!" she shouted as she pulled out a dagger that looked like it was made out of sidewalk and pointed it in my face.

I looked at the dagger, then to the girl's eyes. She seemed about the same age as me from her outward appearance, but when I looked in her hazel eyes, I saw much turmoil and sadness.

I know it might have been a strange thing to wonder at that moment, but… I wondered what she thought of me.

**_MUGGY_**

"_This guy's an __**idiot**_," I thought as we rolled down the hill. "_Nevertheless… money is money._"

He stood up, saying some weak apology and brushed himself off. The guy put out a hand to help me up.

I scoffed at his attempt to help me and jumped up to a standing position, pushing off the ground with my hands. I stuck out my open left hand and said, "Hands outta your pockets and gimme the money."

"… Woah. …Seriously…?" he asked, putting the hands he previously had just stuck back in his pockets up in front of his chest in a defensive manner.

"**Yeah**, seriously!" I shouted, pulling out a concrete dagger from a hidden pocket on my dress and sticking it in the guys face. My older sister taught me to shape it out of a broken piece of concrete we found three years ago, during the year after my parents were killed.

For some reason he was looking at me, taking in my clothes and my eyes.

I chanced a returning glance at the face my dagger was pointed towards. He had really nice blue eyes and really… **really** cute dimples… but I was getting off-track. I was supposed to be taking his money. I quickly tilted my head down to shield my eyes from him with my hat so as not to seem suspicious. Then again… I **was** a suspicious criminal… but who cares?

**_MUGGY_**

"Uh… Miss…?" I laughed nervously. "You, uh… seemed to have misplaced your… dagger-y-thingy…," I joked. I rubbed the back of my neck with one hand and tentatively pushed the point of the dagger up and away from my face with the other.

She used her unoccupied hand to pull off her red baseball cap to slap my hand down, accidentally smacking the dagger out of her own hand and onto the ground. She looked up at me in embarrassment with widened eyes.

I looked over her clothes once again, taking in all of her. She was so pretty. I took an intended-to-be quick look at her eyes, but got caught there.

When her eyes met mine, her gaze quickly turned back to the ground and once again, all I could see of her face was her slightly worn red hat.

I slowly reached out a hand to the girl, but right before it touched her shoulder, she shied away, snatched up her weapon and ran off. Even as she ran away, she used her dagger to hold down the bill of her hat to hide her face.

I watched as the last trace of her long, black hair trailed around a corner and out of sight.

I was supposed to be getting to class. It was airplane dissection week. Today's dissection was the **XJR2F-1 _Pelican_**! But… I had almost gotten mugged. I'm sure Professor Lott, the same man who taught my father everything he knew, would understand. Especially because of his knowledge of my father's frequent forgetfulness of appointments.

I figured Mom would be pretty peeved with me not getting to school on time and would start yelling at me in Yiddish, but at least my grandmother couldn't smack me with her cane when she was out gallivanting with her newest husband, some dude who claimed he once was called "Count Spankulot". Yeah right…

My little brother would be a little disappointed, but not too much, ever since he learned that I **wasn't** the greatest person in the world. It wasn't my fault that I couldn't protect him from getting smacked around by that rowdy Lincoln gang. Tommy only saw me as plain old Hoagie Pennywhistle Gilligan Junior. He never looked at me the same way again.

Leaning against a grimy brick wall, I muttered to myself, "…**She** didn't seem to like making eye contact, either…"

**_MUGGY_**

He looked really nervous as he laughed, saying, "Miss…? You seemed to have misplaced your dagger…"

I rolled my eyes, thinking, "_How could one __misplace a __**dagger**__?_"

Just when I didn't think the guy could get any stupider, he started to push the dagger away. Without hesitation, I snatched off my hat and whacked his hand with it, knocking the dagger out of my hand as well. I scowled up at him in annoyance with narrowed eyes. When my eyes met his, I quickly tilted down my head, only allowing him to see my hat rather than my face.

With even more stupidity, he tried to touch me. Oddly enough, I was compelled not to carry out a roundhouse kick to this guy's jaw like I usually did. Instead, I grabbed my dagger off the ground and ran, holding down the front of my hat to cover my face, hoping no one in my sister's gang would see my cowardice.

As I turned a corner, I realized he had been eyeing my clothes again. I didn't think a black tank top under a side-strap blue dress with a torn hem was that weird.

My older sister wore the same thing, but with a pink dress rather than a blue one, no hat (but keeping the white bandana we both wore on our heads – I wore mine under my hat), four belts (one more than I wear because she's a rank above me), and three bracelets on her right wrist (we both wear the same number of bracelets because we're related by blood).

Granted, I had a makeshift bandage out of a brown paper bag scrap and a few scavenged pieces of old masking tape on my right leg, but I wasn't in as bad condition as Maurice when he stepped out of line with my sister.

I rubbed the scar on my left forearm with the broad side of my dagger as I leaned against the grimy brick wall of the alley I had slipped into. He just seemed so… familiar… Like an old friend. …But members of the Lincoln gang didn't **have** friends. **Especially** not me, Abigail Lincoln, the younger sister of the renowned gang leader.

* * *

So, how'd you like the story? I hope you liked it. I liked it. It's not the style I usually write, but I enjoyed writing it. A little darker than I usually write, but that's what I think makes it.

And yes, they were both decommissioned.

Just so you know, Hoagie and Abby are about... eh... 19, maybe? Meaning Tommy would be somewhere around 15 or 16, Cree would be about 22 or 23 or 24, Maurice would be about 21 or 22, Mrs. Gilligan would be about 40-something or 50-something, and Lydia Gilligan would be... ... really old.

It's kinda intended to be a oneshot, but if I get at least ten people ('cause that's a nice, even number) to ask for a lengthened story, I can do that. I have a couple ideas swirling around, but they don't have to be put to use. Some of them aren't that good.

Okay... babbitrulez, out!


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